


Time Never Forgets

by claraschinman



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Post-Episode: 2016 Xmas The Return of Doctor Mysterio, Reunion, Reunion Fic, but anyway, eleven/clara is there in flashbacks, idk man i just want them to be together and happy and healthy, it's clara oswald not clara oswin oswald, reunion au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 02:23:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10295387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claraschinman/pseuds/claraschinman
Summary: Years apart was long enough, the Universe decided. It would only be a matter of time before the Doctor and Clara found one another again. Knowing what you’ve lost makes saying goodbye all the more difficult. He hardly ever hears her, but she’s always been there. Now is no different. The Doctor can’t remember her, he forgets anew as soon as he turns his back. But while they’re together, their company is enough.





	1. Dreaming

STANDING TALL AND BLUE, there it was. It looked a mile away, only visible against the stark nothingness of the desert; yet when Clara reached a hand forward, her fingers met wood. Her lips parted in disbelief and she took a step back. Barely an inch from the TARDIS now, she could see that it wasn’t all blue. One patch still bore her visage and she could still smell the paint. It was almost as though someone was maintaining it, repainting any chippings or fading. She shook her head, eyes drifting to the handle. Her hand reached to her chest, clasping the key tightly in her hand. It came free of the necklace in an easy tug and the lock was opened just as easily. The doors opened and she swore the console room had never looked wider.

 

A grin broke across her features, childlike and rich with mirth. She ran inside, the control units seemed to bend out of her path and allowed her to run straight to him. The Doctor sat just as she remembered him: hair wild and shoulders hunched, he’d even taken her advice and worn the velvet jacket. He was so deep in thought he didn’t even notice her. Clara bent to her knees, her smile unchanging.

 

“Doctor, it’s me,” she said, her tone positively giddy, like she’d just told a punchline. His eyes were fixed to the floor beside her, his hands holding his chin and fingernails worn away. She realised he must be worried about something. Closer inspection taught her that his eyes were bloodshot. He wasn’t exactly the same as she’d last seen him, he’d lost weight. Upon the realisation, his skin seemed to melt, only leaving sunken cheekbones and the bare minimum of flesh he’d managed to hold onto. He was tearing himself apart from the inside out.

 

Clara needed to help him, she thought. She shifted, taking hold of his hands and pulling them from his face, raising her heels ever so slightly to look directly in his eyes. “Doctor, look at me. I’m here, I’m Clara. It’s really me  . . .   I came _back_ .” Tears welled but she smiled despite it, desperate and wet. “Doctor, please-” Her voice cracked and she shook him by the wrists. “Talk to me, come on. _Remember me_ , please. You’re my _friend_ , you _know_ me.” Then the tears fell in a storm, her screeching voice the thunder.

 

An eternity passed before his hand finally twitched in her grasp. Her breath caught and she blinked tears away to see him. “You shouldn’t have come back,” he said gravely.

 

In a weak drawl, she begged the question “Why?”

 

He said nothing for a pregnant beat. Clara almost repeated herself, stronger, afraid he hadn’t heard or that he simply wouldn’t speak again. A part of her wished for the latter. “Because you’re dead,” he said finally. Then it was his turn to break into a cry. “You’re not really here. No matter how hard I try, no matter what I _do_ \- You still won’t be here.” And his hollow face fell to his knees, his heaving shoulders the only sign of life.

 

 _No_ , she thought. Furiously, she grabbed at his jacket, her fingers digging into the soft fabric. She collapsed, falling and cocooning him into an embrace. She sobbed, her tears clotting in her eyelashes and staining his shirt collar. Surely he’d have to feel something. There was only so far denial could sink, only so far your own imagination could convince you of something.

 

Clara froze. Her throat should hurt, raw and rough from crying - but there was nothing. Her cheeks weren’t wet, her fingers not whitened from clutching his clothes. Suddenly the only thing that felt real was the sinking in her chest as she rose to her feet. He wasn’t crying either. She reached forward to touch his face, but her hand was merely a ghost. Clara already knew and her head turned to the blackboard above them.

 

In the Doctor’s scratched handwriting, Clara read the inevitable:   _YOU’RE DREAMING_.  

 

-x-

 

EVERY NOW AND THEN, when the turn of the planet is perfectly in line with its moon and the weather just right, wind blows nostalgia through the streets and stars like an old friend who stops to whistle through the keyhole, too familiar for a formal knock. Sometimes it’s gentle, a soft and short trip just to make sure Clara isn’t moving on too much, whereas other times it’s blinding.

 

Clara doesn’t strictly need to sleep but she does take comfort in it. With her legs swung over the side of her bed, arms clenching the mattress for support, her head heavy, she knew today was going to be one of those blind days.

 

She rubbed at her neck, thumb digging into the aches but only worsening them as far as she could tell. With a sigh, she threw herself to a stand. Her pyjama pants were almost long enough to trip her but it’s the startling sight of herself in the mirror that nearly knocked her off her feet. A quick splash of water and Clara decided she needn’t do more and set off for the console room. The _real_ one this time. Her one.

 

Since she and Me set off, they’d personalised the desktop. They’d decided to keep the white interior and that scheme had mostly stayed, though they took to adding a set of 1950s-esque colourful chairs that the diner seemed to keep producing. Some bits and pieces of souvenirs were strewn about the place too thankfully, a bookshelf covered half the wall space. The lived-in and homely feel made the infamous Bad Days seem just a bit easier with the reminder that _yes, her old life was fantastic but this is pretty amazing too._ Resting on the red chair, Me’s favourite and the one that Clara would never dare touch as a result, was a thin screen, like a tablet computer only a solid few years more advanced. Clara’s lips quirked in a smile, guilty and indulgent but filled with fondness.

 

They’d gotten it out in the first place because Clara made her film _Love’s Labour’s Won_. That had been one of her more impulsive Bad Days. The Doctor had told her about being at the play in the past, had told her the grand epic adventure he’d had with the Bard himself. Clara didn’t go to the Globe with the intention of meeting the Doctor again but at the very least she wanted to see him. She knew to expect Sandshoes ( according to the Doctor ) / “the good looking one” ( according to her if she was feeling up to it ) but she didn’t mind. It was a well needed reminder that life goes on - and that’s she’s not the only friend who ever lost him.

 

And she got the first-ever filmed Shakespeare play as a result. All in all, it had been a successful trip - and quite relaxing, knowing she could sit back and enjoy a disaster that the Doctor had already put a stop to. Though she was hesitant to do something in as reckless a vein again. Yes, everything had run smoothly - but it might not have. And besides, it was hard to find exact dates in history the Doctor had been to for numerous reasons, the main being: 1. He usually didn’t know either and 2. Evidence had a way of cleaning itself away once they’d dealt with him.

 

Clara shook from her reverie, the silent console room screaming echoes of the man she missed. And by God did she miss him - but she wouldn’t cry. Not now. Her gran had said crying was the best way to let go of people. And she had: She sobbed away the loss of her gran, the fact she’d never seeing her father again, her uncle, her neighbours, her friends and colleagues. She even shed a tear for Linda. And for all of them she’d mourned and moved on, yet still the memory of the Doctor wouldn’t let go of her. Perhaps it was because she was clinging on so hard.

 

He’d once told her that her loss would destroy him. _One day, the memory of that will hurt so much that I won’t be able to breathe, and I’ll do what I always do. I’ll get in my box and I’ll run and I’ll run, in case all the pain ever catches up. And every place I go it will be there._ And how close he had been to getting it completely right. The prophecy, she thought, had simply gone to the other person. When Clara left him, he was okay. _He was all right_. Safe, alive. He wasn’t consumed with grief or even despairing to find her again. Clara knew he was going to be just fine and that was the one thing that stopped her from trying to contact him. It was the driving force in Nevada just the same as it was now. He didn’t need her anymore.

 

The silence too grim, Clara did what any true Briton would see to: she made tea. You can take the girl out of England but you can’t take the England out of the girl. The two cups still boiling warm in her hands, Clara padded down the corridor. A finger lifted from the handle, knocking quietly on Me’s bedroom door before she hipped it open. She was grateful Me hadn’t gone with one of the default electronic doors. There was nothing comfortable about them - and they were awkward to get inside with full hands.

 

The light from the corridor was dim but bright enough to pull Me into a sitting position as she rubbed her eyes. The routine familiar, she didn’t waste time complaining or even wondering what Clara was doing there. Instead, she heaved a soft sigh and shuffled over in her bed to make room, a hand extended for the peace-offered tea.

 

Clara smiled, the quirk of her mouth grateful and apologetic. Me shook her head, assuring her the latter was unnecessary as she took her mug. Clara sat down, pulling the covers over herself with one arm and careful not to spill anything with the other. ( She was impressively skilled at never losing a drop of tea, no matter the circumstances. )

 

“What happened this time?”

 

It had taken them presumably years to reach this level of comfort. Clara hated speaking about the Doctor in anything bar a factual sense. Me already knew more than most and Clara was reluctant to share anything else. It wasn’t for lack of trust, but Clara doubted her ability to talk about him without getting emotional. She didn’t mention him very often for Me’s sake too; she pretended not to dislike him for Clara’s sake, but Clara knew. As far as her nightmares were concerned, a part of her believed if she ignored them altogether, they’d go away. Eventually, she’d cracked and spilled everything to Me. She’d been a comfort ever since.

 

A deep inhale of tea and she told her, her head sinking further into the headboard with every detail. Me stayed silent throughout, the only indication she was listening being the changing degrees of her frown and furrowed brows.

 

“You’ve been having these a lot lately,” Me muttered, testing the waters to see if Clara would be happy with her mentioning it.

 

She simply nods. “I know.”

 

“Why do you think that is?”

 

“How should I know? Anyway, it’s nothing. Probably brought some bad space dust home in my shoes or something. It’ll pass.”

 

Me didn’t seem convinced but took that as her cue not to persist. And for a poignant moment, she _didn’t_ say anything. Slurps of tea were the only noise to fill the silence before she spoke up again. “You don’t think it’s got anything to do with him do you?”

 

Clara raised an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure it’s got everything to do with him-”

 

“No, I don’t mean spiritually. D’you think maybe he’s trying to contact you? You said yourself you keep seeing things that remind you of him. Maybe they’re clues he set up?”

 

She gave a limp smile, appreciative of her efforts but no less doubtful than usual. “If he ever did try to do that, I’d really hope for a different approach. Besides, clues and things aren’t really his style. He doesn’t complicate it.”

 

Disappointment flashed on Me’s expression. She wouldn’t encourage seeing the Doctor again. Who’s to say the Hybrid wouldn’t be born again? While her wisdom knows they need to be apart, sympathy and care for Clara stood a fighting chance at swaying her to look in the other direction.

 

“Do you think you’ll ever see him again?” she wondered.

 

Clara smiled her infamous sad smile, her eyes knowing. “I will,” she promised. And as usual, it’s what’s unsaid that holds the most meaning. Whether she means she’ll say goodbye to him before returning to Gallifrey or if she merely knows he will be there with her in the end, it all sings the same melancholic tune.

 

The clever thing about what Clara doesn’t say, is that Me can’t very well tell her she’s wrong about something she’s never said. She weaves her words carefully, wary of intruding or assuming Clara’s mind too strongly - Clara hated that, even if she was right.

 

“I don’t think you’ll be away for too long. He’s gonna need your help sooner or later.”

 

Their cups were drained before Clara stretched upright. “I’ll be back with a wake-up call in an hour or so, ‘kay?” She swiped the other’s empty cup from her hand and climbed out of bed. While they may have joked around the idea before, sleeping together wasn’t something on either of their agendas.

 

Me grumbled but it was hardly in disapproval. “G’night.” Her head fell back to the pillow and she readjusted the duvet around her as Clara backed out, closing the door with her pinkie finger.

 

After disposing of the tea, Clara dressed and prepped for the console room. She was planning on a visit to Venus II - the population of Venus grew too rapidly and they needed to expand due to overcrowding. Unlike the Doctor, Clara did take an interest in the safety precautions of her ship. Considering the risk she was taking just by being alive, she really couldn’t afford a TARDIS malfunction.

 

The TARDIS did most of the inspecting herself while Clara waited patiently, usually for the same result. This wasn’t one of those times. Clara clenched her fist at the realisation that she was excited by the warning _beep_ that sounded from the monitor.

 

The screen was a pixelated, blurry mess of grey. Clara squinted, noting a black line flashing and growing from the centre. A dozen flashes or so later and it had grown to spell three letters - still blurry, like an old video player, but she was able to decipher it.   _HEY_  remained the message just long enough for her to be confident that was it before it abruptly flashed to   _MISSY_.

  
She was almost getting boring, Clara thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may seem familiar, I reposted it from my old account. I deleted that because I had too many uncompleted fics and it was killing my motivation.  
> Anyways, thank you for reading! Comment/kudos would be hella appreciated. Hopefully I'll be posting frequently :)


	2. Collision Course

The walls stretched to the sky, black blending into black underneath an uncapped roof. Small lights glittered along every corner, the brightness catching in some antennae decorations and making for painful eye-contact. The crowd was mostly humanoid though scarcely human. The Doctor’s pale skin drowned in the sea of bright greens and purples. It was a sophisticated bunch, everyone dressed in custom-made black suits. The band stage centred the hall, music lively enough for people to say they had a good time, but soft enough for people to talk over it if they preferred.

 

The Doctor slipped through the crowds, dodging people as a smoothly executed sport. He settled at the bar, sliding onto a free stool and ordering whatever it was his finger pointed at. An anonymous message told him to be here before the meteor shower. Taking his glass, he swivelled in his chair to face out, to face the guests, the exits. He wasn’t stupid, he knew it was a test of sorts. His eyes scanned and scoured everything in his line of vision, catching nothing out of the ordinary.

 

A fat alien with orange crevices covering his cheeks like giant freckles stepped forward to the microphone. “Now it’s time for me and my friends to take some requests,” he sang, his voice low and loud over the fading instruments as the previous song came to an end. Some moved eagerly closer to the stage, the Doctor’s head shot to the opposite end of the room. Boring.

 

It wasn’t long before jazz started twinkling through the speakers. The Doctor cracked a smile. He didn’t know why. People danced a little, laughed quite a lot. Bit annoying.

 

A sign hung above the entrance, electric but designed to look like chalk. ‘TWO MINUTES’ it read. The Doctor can ordinarily appreciate natural phenomenons such as meteor showers, but he’s seen this one before and it’s not as exciting on your own. When you make time and space your back garden, it becomes a back garden.

 

A barman tapped him on the shoulder and he half faced him in response.

 

“You here on your own?” he asked.

 

The Doctor frowned. “So?”

 

The barman made a disgruntled expression. “There’s a deal on, that’s all. You could _lie_ and get a second one half-price just for yourself.”

 

The Doctor was going to be getting a lot more than 50% off regardless of what they were charging. Not in the mood for distraction, he nodded offhandedly.

* * *

  
Meeting Missy on your own isn’t something anyone should ever _consider_ . Clara had witnessed that first hand, yet she didn’t seem to learn from it. She didn’t want to put Me at risk too, and well, honestly - Me would never let her go in the first place. If Clara had more impulse control, _she_ wouldn’t let herself go either. She lost track of how many times Missy had tried to kill her, and the fact that there’s a statistic for that at all should be enough to keep her exactly where she is. Even if she ends up regretting this meeting, at least she’ll have a chance to shout at her, Clara rationalised.

 

And besides, there were _insurances_ with having your death be a fixed-point. Clara considered leaving a note for her companion but decided against it. She’d be in enough trouble as it, she could at least pretend for now that Me will never know about her solo adventure. Clara will be back before Me even realises she was gone. And if she doesn’t come back, Clara’s sure Me will know what to do.

 

Missy wasn’t sending her to an empty square this time. No, reading the co-ordinates from the monitor, Clara knew it was far from Earth, far from the 21st Century, but those figures didn’t faze her anymore. She hadn’t been to Earth for months, the 21st Century for years.

 

Accompanying the co-ordinates from Missy came an invitation on another screen. Black tie event to watch a meteor shower. Once every 50 years didn’t seem very special-- oh how old and ungrateful she’s gotten. Clara shook her head, quickly changing her jumper for a blazer and tie. Tucking the sonic sunglasses into her inner pocket, Clara set the TARDIS into flight. The Doctor had generously abandoned the glasses on the diner counter when they’d last met.

 

Not wanting to make a sound and risk detection, Clara turned the breaks off this once. The TARDIS landed with an uncomfortable ease, like a silent courtroom awaiting a verdict. She didn’t hang around the console room long enough to talk herself out of the meeting.

 

The diner fed into the main console room like an entrance hall and through the windows, Clara immediately saw the vibrant party teeming below the black sky. The exterior of a diner was too big to be practical. It never re-disguised itself but it adjusted its size. Clara walked through the front door and like an Alice in Wonderland contraption, the TARDIS appeared to be squashed barely thicker than a wall print, like a painting.

 

She faded into the crowds, looking for a signature purple dress-coat. Missy wasn’t subtle, she expected her to ignore the dress code. After ten minutes of searching, Clara eventually resigned herself to the fact that Missy would only be found when she wanted to be. It didn’t stop her from looking for weapons in the vicinity. However, Clara had the funniest feeling that this wasn’t set up to be a mayhemic game.

 

Debating whether to take a seat by the dining area or the bar, Clara’s thoughts were interrupted by the music. It was one of her favourites ever since they went on the Orient Express. Maybe the memories were more important than the song, but there wasn’t much difference between the two. She wasn’t exaggerating when she told Me that more and more things were starting to remind her of the Doctor.

 

Irritation pushed her towards the bar. Alcohol didn’t have any significant effect on her anymore, no matter how much she had, but it was an atmosphere less formal than the restaurant. Over there, she’d look like she’d just been stood up by a date.

  
Not two steps in the right direction before she couldn’t see a thing. The lights went out, the music dimmed, all power was gone. Clara’s eyes immediately took to the sky, but there wasn’t a meteor yet. No stars of any kind. With the sign off, they couldn’t determine when exactly there would be either. Five seconds of nothing, then people started to sound panicked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow chapter 2 already, I'm proud of myself. I hope to have the third chapter up relatively soon, but there is a lot more to happen in it seeing as chapter 3 kind of kicks off the main plot. This was mostly just tying things together between 1 + 3. Pray I structure better in the future?
> 
> Anyway, kudos/comments would be really appreciated. Thank you for reading and have a lovely day. xx


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